Read Online Two Sisters: A Novel by Mary Hogan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Hogan
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don’t. But God does.”
Owen almost laughed. It was the eighties. Had the woman never heard of the sexual revolution? Women’s lib? The pill? Had God never spoken to her about the twentieth century?
Lidia abruptly stood up. She took Owen’s hand and placed it flat on her slightly rounded abdomen. “There’s a human life growing inside of me.”
God forgive him, Owen wanted to jerk his hand away. But Lidia took Owen’s other hand and pressed both of them hard against her body.
“ Our creation, my darling,” she whispered, bending down so she was right up to his ear. There, she inhaled his earlobe into her mouth and nibbled on it as if it were a tiny cob of corn. Letting her feathery blond hair spill all over his face, she kissed him. First his eyelids, then the tip of his nose, then his bottom lip, then both lips. Her tongue found the roof of his mouth and danced there. Sliding her skirt up over her thighs, she straddled him. With his hands still on her torso, Owen was as tiny limbed as a T. rex. He fell backward on the couch, helpless, moaning as she unzipped his wool slacks. He muttered, “Oh God,” as she somehow maneuvered his manhood through the maze of fabric that separated them. With his girlfriend on top of him, moving in the most exquisite undulating manner, Owen decided it might not be so very terrible to make her his fiancée after all.
Chapter 10
P APA C ZERWINSKI MADE a call or two. He knew people. His tentacles spread far beyond the tiny state of Rhode Island. There were men he’d grown up with in the old country, other bakery owners on the East Coast, restaurateurs, loans he’d made, favors offered and accepted. He was a man with options. His daughter needn’t be a topic for tut-tutting over afternoon tea and pączki . “Such a big baby for a preemie. So soon after the wedding. You’d think a couple who barely knew each other might want to wait one Christmas, at least.”
Above all else, Papa Czerwinski was a businessman. Already he could hear the way his customers would grumble: “The Irishman will be making the babka now? What, tradition has become a dirty word?” Best to get the new husband and the large baby with the Celtic last name out of town before the rabble had a chance to be roused. He picked up the phone. He made a call or two. While Pia was still a baby bump, Papa arranged for his new son-in-law to accept a position at an engineering firm in midtown Manhattan.
“Oh! Manhattan is fabulous!” Lidia’s dark eyes were alight. “At last I’ll see the world.” To the baby still in her belly she said, “See how much you’ve given me already?”
Owen’s parents saw the entire situation differently.
“ ‘A lack of willingness on either side can void the marital contract and annul divine sanction,’ ” Owen’s father read from a pamphlet his parish priest had given him. “It says it right here, son, a lack of willingness. You can still get out of this thing.”
“How can I be unwilling to claim my own child?” Owen asked. “Give him or her a legitimate last name?”
That shut him up. A child, of course, complicated everything.
“I’m afraid it’s a done deal, Dad.”
What else could anyone say?
The reality was, Owen felt like a cartoon character hit by a two-by-four. Everything happened so fast, his cranium was still metronoming back and forth; his ears rang so loudly he could barely hear anything else. One moment he was marveling at the divine geometry of a woman who could swivel her hips on top of him in both a circle and a square, the next he was watching that same woman walk down the aisle toward him wearing an empire-waisted wedding gown at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow.
While Lidia happily lost the last vestiges of her elfin waist at her parents’ bakery, Owen drove four hours down Interstate 95 to find his soon-to-be family a suitable home in their new state. On the way, in the blessed quiet of the car, he had time to think. Lidia, he decided, was
Owen almost laughed. It was the eighties. Had the woman never heard of the sexual revolution? Women’s lib? The pill? Had God never spoken to her about the twentieth century?
Lidia abruptly stood up. She took Owen’s hand and placed it flat on her slightly rounded abdomen. “There’s a human life growing inside of me.”
God forgive him, Owen wanted to jerk his hand away. But Lidia took Owen’s other hand and pressed both of them hard against her body.
“ Our creation, my darling,” she whispered, bending down so she was right up to his ear. There, she inhaled his earlobe into her mouth and nibbled on it as if it were a tiny cob of corn. Letting her feathery blond hair spill all over his face, she kissed him. First his eyelids, then the tip of his nose, then his bottom lip, then both lips. Her tongue found the roof of his mouth and danced there. Sliding her skirt up over her thighs, she straddled him. With his hands still on her torso, Owen was as tiny limbed as a T. rex. He fell backward on the couch, helpless, moaning as she unzipped his wool slacks. He muttered, “Oh God,” as she somehow maneuvered his manhood through the maze of fabric that separated them. With his girlfriend on top of him, moving in the most exquisite undulating manner, Owen decided it might not be so very terrible to make her his fiancée after all.
Chapter 10
P APA C ZERWINSKI MADE a call or two. He knew people. His tentacles spread far beyond the tiny state of Rhode Island. There were men he’d grown up with in the old country, other bakery owners on the East Coast, restaurateurs, loans he’d made, favors offered and accepted. He was a man with options. His daughter needn’t be a topic for tut-tutting over afternoon tea and pączki . “Such a big baby for a preemie. So soon after the wedding. You’d think a couple who barely knew each other might want to wait one Christmas, at least.”
Above all else, Papa Czerwinski was a businessman. Already he could hear the way his customers would grumble: “The Irishman will be making the babka now? What, tradition has become a dirty word?” Best to get the new husband and the large baby with the Celtic last name out of town before the rabble had a chance to be roused. He picked up the phone. He made a call or two. While Pia was still a baby bump, Papa arranged for his new son-in-law to accept a position at an engineering firm in midtown Manhattan.
“Oh! Manhattan is fabulous!” Lidia’s dark eyes were alight. “At last I’ll see the world.” To the baby still in her belly she said, “See how much you’ve given me already?”
Owen’s parents saw the entire situation differently.
“ ‘A lack of willingness on either side can void the marital contract and annul divine sanction,’ ” Owen’s father read from a pamphlet his parish priest had given him. “It says it right here, son, a lack of willingness. You can still get out of this thing.”
“How can I be unwilling to claim my own child?” Owen asked. “Give him or her a legitimate last name?”
That shut him up. A child, of course, complicated everything.
“I’m afraid it’s a done deal, Dad.”
What else could anyone say?
The reality was, Owen felt like a cartoon character hit by a two-by-four. Everything happened so fast, his cranium was still metronoming back and forth; his ears rang so loudly he could barely hear anything else. One moment he was marveling at the divine geometry of a woman who could swivel her hips on top of him in both a circle and a square, the next he was watching that same woman walk down the aisle toward him wearing an empire-waisted wedding gown at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow.
While Lidia happily lost the last vestiges of her elfin waist at her parents’ bakery, Owen drove four hours down Interstate 95 to find his soon-to-be family a suitable home in their new state. On the way, in the blessed quiet of the car, he had time to think. Lidia, he decided, was
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